There is an old philosophical question: if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? For Argentina, a similar question applies: if a scrum collapses in London, far from the roar of a home crowd, does it decide a championship? The answer, unequivocally, is yes.
The Pumas’ scrum did not just struggle at Twickenham; it collapsed. And this silent, technical collapse, away from the passionate support that might have willed them to resist, was the single most decisive factor in their defeat.
In Buenos Aires or Mendoza, a struggling scrum is met with a roar of encouragement, a collective urging of the home crowd to find another gear. In London, it was met with the roar of South African fans celebrating another penalty. The psychological impact of this difference is immense.
This collapse happened in the game’s most crucial moments. As the Springboks turned the screw in the second half, the Pumas’ scrum became an open door through which the championship was lost. It conceded penalties, territory, and ultimately, the tries that decided the contest.
The Pumas’ fate was sealed not by a moment of brilliant attack or dazzling skill, but by the quiet, repeated collapse of their set piece. Their scrum fell in London, and the sound it made was the sound of a championship dream ending.